Black Tears
by pink sugar heart attack
Summary: Sometimes it's hard to keep control.


* ~Black Tears~  
* by Becca (pink sugar heart attack)  
* poisonlollypop@hotmail.com  
* finished on: 3/26/02  
*******************************  
  
AN: I love sleeping in. Ahhh, spring break... *ahem* anyway.... Whoopee! My first Rockyfic. I sat down yesterday, put "Lullaby" from the Shock Treatment soundtrack on a continuous loop, and wrote. Hooray. And I saw Witching Time. HOOPLA for Pat Quinn!!!   
  
**I wanna dedicate this fic to Kristi (NationMcKinley16), who told me to keep the title. AND she gave me words of praise for a piece of another fic I'm writing, which made me happy. Here's to you, our favorite Peppy Bitch!**  
  
E-mail me. poisonlollypop@hotmail.com  
Rocky isn't mine! It belongs to Ritz.  
  
Random quote:  
"They don't have meetings about rainbows." -- Cole, from The Sixth Sense.  
  
  
Black Tears  
**************  
  
He found her in the shower on the second floor. She was crouched in a fetal position, still clothed, her buoyant red curls now hanging dark and limp around her face. Her lips were moving, choking out sobs between deep, labored breaths. There was a small mirror in her hand, the reflection skewed by hot water traveling down its surface, distorting her features and twisting her face into something unrecognizable.   
  
Riff was shocked, to say the least. She hadn't regressed like this for ages, he'd been lulled into a sense of security, believing that it was over. He was incredibly grateful that Frank was on the town today, amusing himself with something--or someone, rather-- and Columbia was off with the delivery boy.   
  
He wanted to turn the shower off, but the faucet was behind her, out of his reach. Magenta rubbed her face with one hand and continued to cry, staring into the mirror. There were black tears on her cheeks. Riff knelt down beside her, ignoring the moisture that began to seep through to his back. She sniffed, looking up at him, and he felt his heart wrench. Her lips were parted, pulled so wide over her teeth someone might call it a grin. But Riff knew better; she was wincing.  
  
"Magenta, what is it?" he asked gently.   
  
There was a pause. The water seemed incredibly loud.  
  
"It won't.... won't come off," she sobbed, clutching the hand mirror tightly. "It won't come off..."   
  
Riff marveled at the ambiguity of her statement. "What won't come off?"   
  
She wiped the dark trails from her cheeks and hugged herself, shivering under the hot water. Riff sighed. The words she spoke could have meant so many different things. Something must have upset her terribly.   
  
He reached around her to shut off the shower, but his hand never touched the knob. Very suddenly, Magenta screamed, in rage and frustration, and threw the mirror down. It shattered like a rare silver diamond on the tiled floor. For a moment her hands were speckled with red--as if she'd contracted some terrible disease-- before the water swept it away, spiraling down the drain.   
  
Her body shook with heaving sobs and she laid her head against the cold wall. Riff was at a loss to do anything except quickly grabbing for the water faucet. The flow stopped abruptly. He reached out, tried to hold her, but she batted his hands away like flies.  
  
"Don't touch me," she snarled.  
  
"Magenta--"  
  
"Go away."  
  
"I won't. Just tell me what's wrong."  
  
"You can't..." she whispered.  
  
"Can't what?" He felt stupid and lost, trapped in the tide of her emotions. "Can't understand?"  
  
She shook her head. "Just go away," she demanded harshly.  
  
"No."  
  
"I'm warning you."  
  
"Warning me?" Riff scoffed. "What are you going to do?"  
  
"It's not what I'll do." She rubbed her eyes. "It's what you'll do. You'll regret it, Riff, just leave me alone."  
  
Her words made no sense to him, vague and distant like newspaper horoscopes. "You need to rest, Magenta, come on."  
  
"I'm warning you."  
  
He could feel his patience wearing thin as he reached for her again. "Let me help you."  
  
She shrunk back. "You'll regret it."  
  
"Magenta, stop this."  
  
Her hands were on her ears, blocking him out. "I warned you."  
  
"Just come on!" he shouted, louder than he'd intended.  
  
Her voice shook. "Go AWAY, Riff."   
  
Riff tried to lift her up and she flailed wildly against him, violent and hysterical. He pulled her nearer as she pushed him away, and in the end they were no closer than before. Finally, he caught her by the wrists and held her arms in place. She glared daggers and venom at him, then decisively spit in his face.  
  
Nothing that Riff had ever been taught about self-control could have helped him at that moment. The pure disgust that boiled over in his gut took any rational thought away. He barely registered Magenta's look of shock, perhaps directed at herself for doing such a thing, before raising his hand and bringing it down hard on her left cheek.  
  
The slap echoed through the tiny room, hard and final. Her strangled cry of pain was what brought his crazed thoughts to order. He watched, stunned, as she covered her face and turned away from him quickly, shivering and crying despite her efforts to stop the tears. They rolled away like cold, dark marbles.  
  
Riff was speechless. He had never hit anyone so hard, not even someone he hated, let alone someone he loved beyond measure. Dumbfounded by his own actions, he couldn't form the words to apologize.   
  
"I told you," she cried, slumping against the wall. She could barely speak for the violent sobs that shook her entire body. "You.. of anyone... you told me you'd never hurt me, Riff."  
  
He stood, suddenly unable to handle all this.  
  
"Everyone I ever loved has hurt me.... EVERYONE!" she screamed.  
  
He left the room quickly, the echoes of her voice following him.  
  
***  
  
Her room was cast in a dim orange glow. Apparently she'd forgotten to turn off the lamp. Riff walked slowly, marking his every step, until he stood next to her sleeping form.  
  
The blankets and pillow were in a tangled heap at the foot of the bed, as if she'd thrown them aside in a fit of rage and then, too proud to admit she was wrong, decided to sleep without them. She was sprawled on her side, drawing breath through slightly parted lips. He touched her neck gently, then the collar of her dress. Her clothes were still damp.  
  
The lamp cast dark shadows in the hollows of her face and throat, drawing Riff's eyes upward. She hadn't reapplied her makeup, and there on her cheek lay a pink mark about the size and shape of his hand, clearly illuminated by the orange light. It was fading, but slowly.  
  
He sighed. His entire afternoon and a good part of the evening had been spent pacing the pink floor of Frank's lab, trying to remember why he'd hit her. Analyzing each moment from the time he stepped into the room, every word passed between them. Nothing she'd done, no matter how vulgar, should have caused his temper to dissolve like that. He clearly remembered telling her, as a child, that if anyone hurt her he'd hurt them back. That he would protect her always. He'd broken his promise, and the guilt that resulted was almost more than he could stand.  
  
Her words continued to play over and over in his head, a record that refused to stop skipping. ~You'll regret it...~ She'd known what he would do. That thought alone was terrifying. She could see it somehow... in the way he looked, or spoke, or acted... she knew.   
  
agenta shifted in her sleep. She so pure and innocent that Riff couldn't help sighing as he touched her hair lightly with his fingertips. Maybe it wouldn't have to affect their relationship. Her face would be covered in white the next morning, just like always. The mark would fade into nothing. The memory would remain longer, but time would push it to the back of their minds.   
  
It wasn't worth lingering on. The wounds would heal. Riff leaned over Magenta and kissed her cheek softly. Times were ugly, they would only get worse, but no matter what happened, she belonged to him. With this thought as a cold comfort, he turned off the lamp, casting the room into raven-wing blackness.  
  
  
******  
What wouldn't come off? The scars of her childhood? The weight of her decisions? Her damn eyeliner? There are some mysteries that are just beyond our knowledge.  
  
Please take thirty seconds out of your precious time to review me.  
  
Thanks for reading! I wub you. ^.^ *  
  
Peace, pills, and elbow sex,  
~Becca  
poisonlollypop@hotmail.com  
****** 


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